


By Any Name

by Sreya



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Meta Fic, St. Agnes Orphanage, Surprise guest character at the end!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sreya/pseuds/Sreya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Sue. Skye. Daisy Johnson. Do the names really mean anything? (Skye-centric fanfic, started last fall when we were all debating whether it made sense for her to change her name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Name

**Author's Note:**

> So this was something that I started playing with last fall when everyone was talking about Skye changing her name and why she would or wouldn't use Daisy. This isn't really so much taking sides as just playing with the idea of identity and what it means to a orphaned girl in search of a place to belong.

The first time Mary Sue ever really thought about her name, she was five years old. All of the other children had been taken for an ice skating trip, but because Mary Sue had a bad cold and a fever she’d stayed behind and was wrapped up on the big sofa in the St. Agnes convent instead of in her own little dormitory. Sister Theresa was the only one there with her, but she was bustling around with excitement because her family was coming to say hello - it was the first time she’d seen them in six years, she told Mary Sue.

When they arrived, they brought with them a gust of wind and a lot of noise. Mary Sue watched with big eyes as Sister Theresa greeted first her parents, then two grown-up brothers, and finally her grandmother. As they came closer, she could hear them all talking about someone called “Becky.” She tried to be quiet and just watch, but when she started coughing they all turned to look at her.

“Honestly, Becky!” the grandmother said, “what’s this little one doing down here out of bed?”

Sister Theresa came over and put her hand on Mary Sue’s forehead, then gave her a juice box from the side table and a bundle of tissues. “This is Mary Sue,” she announced, “and she had to stay here with me today. It’s much warmer in here than the dormitory while everyone else is gone.”

Her grandmother tsk’d and pushed her aside, officiously rearranging the blankets around Mary Sue’s little body. “Well, she’ll never get any better with that sugar water. Don’t you have any tea?”

Soon Mary Sue was drinking some hot tea with lemon and honey out of a plastic mug with the grandmother sitting beside her, watching her as if to prevent an escape. But the little girl was far too fascinated in watching Sister Theresa laughing with her parents and enduring her brothers’ teases. Mary Sue never thought about the sisters having families - if she’d had to explain, she might have said that the sisters had always been at St. Agnes’s, but she hadn’t even thought that much about it either. Because it was _children_ who were supposed to have families - that’s why people would come visit them at the orphanage.

Even more than this realization, though, Mary Sue was confused why they kept talking about another person. Sister Theresa had introduced everyone, and none of them were named “Becky,” so why were they talking about her?

Finally, after she’d finished her tea and her throat was a little better, she piped up in a little voice, “Who’s Becky?”

The conversation stopped as everyone turned to stare at her, though Sister Theresa looked faintly amused. The grandmother caught on first, and smiled as she explained, “Becky is Sister’s name from when she was born. We’re not used to calling her Theresa, because all her life before, she was Rebecca or Becky.”

Mary Sue furrowed her brow - it solved one mystery, but created another. “But how come we call her Sister Theresa if that’s not her name?”

“When a woman takes her vows to be a Sister,” Theresa explained, “she takes on a new name to symbolize her new life. In our order, we choose the name of a saint that we wish to honor, and that becomes our own name.”

“But then why doesn’t your family call you Sister Theresa now?” Mary Sue asked.

One of her brothers snorted lightly. “She’ll always be Buggy Becky to us.”

Sister Theresa looked at him with a stern glare that was very familiar to Mary Sue, but then she only shook her head at him and turned back. “My family knew me for so long as Becky that it’s strange for them to call me anything else. So now it’s like a special name just for my family, but they still know I’m also Sister Theresa. It’s like… well, if your parents had lived and you grew up with them, they wouldn’t call you Mary Sue. They had another name for you.”

Mary Sue sat up, her eyes and mouth making great big “O” shapes. “They _did?_ ”

Sister Theresa nodded. “They gave you a name when you were born. Unfortunately, the people who brought you here didn’t know what your name was. So we gave you a new name when you started your new life with us.”

“ _Oh!_ ” she breathed. When she stayed quiet, the others resumed their conversation. But Mary Sue didn’t really listen anymore. She was too busy wondering what name her parents must have given her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

When Mary Sue was seven, she was sent to a new foster home. She brought with her a small backpack and a duffle bag with her clothes, and it was a long drive away from St. Agnes, far enough that she would be going to a new school. It was Sister Anne who drove her, and as they sat in the car in front of the apartment building, she turned to Mary Sue and smiled. “You’re going to be so happy here, Mary Sue. It will be a whole new life. You’ll see.”

So she followed Sister Anne up to the building and inside to meet her new foster parents. They showed her to the small room she would be sharing with a little three year old girl, and the mother helped her to put her things away in the drawers. When they were finished, the woman sat down on Mary Sue’s bed and patted it. “Come here and tell me about yourself. I want to know every little thing about Mary Sue.”

The girl climbed onto the bed, chewing at her lip. “Actually,” she said, “that isn’t my real name.”

Her foster mother looked at her in surprise. “Of course it’s your name!”

“No, it’s just what the sisters’ gave me. So since I’m not living there anymore,” she straightened up, hope lighting up her eyes, “can’t I have a new name?”

The woman just laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Your name is Mary Sue.”

The next month, Mary Sue decided it was just as well. Her new life hadn’t lasted very long there anyway.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Two years later, Mary Sue was sent to live with the Brody family. She really liked them - they were nice, and funny, and they gave her a room to herself even though it meant their two younger children had to share a room. Mrs. Brody helped her with her homework, and made sure all three children always had a special treat in their lunch bags. She didn’t mind if they came in dirty from playing outside, instead chasing them into the laundry room with her laughter and fresh towels.

Mr. Brody usually worked late during the week, but on the weekends he would take everyone out for adventures. Sometimes it was just to a nearby park; sometimes they would drive to another town. Once he took them to an amusement park, and he went with Mary Sue on the biggest rollercoaster and screamed alongside her.

Mr. Brody was also funny, and he had nicknames for everybody. Mrs. Brody was “Honeybun,” and the two littler kids were “Squirt” and “Hobbit.” The first time he used a nickname for Mary Sue, he called her “Chatterbox” and she just stared at him in surprise.

“Is it okay if I call you that?” Mr. Brody asked.

Mary Sue shrugged, but she also smiled shyly. “Sure, that’s okay.”

He tried out a few nicknames - “Pickle” and “Peanut”, “Sunshine,” and once “Punky Sue-ster.” After a while, “Sunshine” seemed to be used the most.

Once even Mrs. Brody called her “Sunshine.” Later, Mary Sue thought it had helped her to work up the courage to call her “Mom.”

But the nicknames didn’t last.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

At twelve years old, Mary Sue was back at St. Agnes’s Orphanage and the only one in the dorms her age. They didn’t have enough sisters there to teach the junior high level in the parish school, so she was going to a nearby public school. But on Tuesday nights, she and some other twelve year olds from the parish took their Confirmation classes with Sister Bernadette.

Mary Sue didn’t care all that much about the classes. Well, she _cared_ \- she wanted to make her Confirmation like the other twelve year olds, because she knew it was _big_ and _important_. But most of all, she wanted to be confirmed because _she could choose her own name_.

So in the evenings when she was tired of her homework, she would curl up with a book about the saints that Sister Bernadette had given her from the convent, and she would read through the different stories. She knew about some of them from the sisters already - most had told the stories of their patron saints, so she knew about Saint Bernadette and Saint Theresa and several others. And she knew about some of the Saint Agneses - there were too many to remember them all, but she knew the original was a martyr who died as a teenager. Mary Sue had no interest in taking the name of a martyr.

She also knew about saints like Joan of Arc who had great adventures. Some saints, like Margaret of Cortona, had interesting life stories but she just couldn’t see herself taking a name like “Margaret.” Eventually, she chose Saint Louise, impressed with her work founding institutions throughout France and happy with the name “Louise” because it was different from anyone she’d ever known.

The day of her confirmation was bright and sunny, and she wore a second-hand dress that Sister Clare helped her mend so that it looked almost new. The mass itself sped by, and soon she stood before the bishop with Sister Bernadette’s hand on her shoulder. The bishop dipped his thumb into the chrism and made the sign of the cross on her forehead while saying, “Louise, be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

Smiling brightly, Louise responded, “Amen.”

Afterward, the sisters held a small party for her in orphanage, serving cupcakes with little crosses made of icing. They smiled and called her Louise and she couldn’t remember ever being so happy.

On Monday, when she returned to school, Louise interrupted the home room teacher during roll call. “Excuse me, it’s not Mary Sue anymore, it’s Louise.”

Some of the other children around her snickered. The teacher merely looked on in confusion, the roll call sheet in his hand. “What did you say?”

“I said my name isn’t Mary Sue. It’s Louise.”

“Since when?” he asked indignantly.

“I was confirmed in the church this weekend, and I chose the name Louise. That’s my name now.”

The snickers became outright laughter as the teacher rolled his eyes at her. “That’s ridiculous. You don’t change your name just because of something you did at church.”

She stood up at her desk. “Well, I _did_.”

“Mary Sue Poots,” the teacher drew himself up tall. “Take your seat right now.”

“ _I’m not Mary Sue._ ”

“If you don’t take your seat, _Mary Sue_ , then you’ll be sent to the principal’s office.”

“Well, if that’s _Mary Sue’s_ seat, then it isn’t _mine!_ ”

The principal didn’t take kindly to her new name, either. Eventually, Sister Monica was called to take her to the orphanage; she’d been suspended for the day.

Back in the empty dormitory, Mary Sue finally let the tears fall.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

At sixteen, Mary Sue decided she’d had enough of St. Agnes’s and foster families. She was staying with a family in a rundown apartment, and it was easy to scurry down the fire escape and slip into the streets of New York. Just another girl on the streets. She knew no one would come looking for her. She’d run down the patience of the sisters at St. Agnes’s with her shoplifting and her backtalk and her refusal to follow any rules whatsoever. After she was arrested for hacking from the school library computer, the state took her away from the orphanage completely. Her social worker soon warned her this was probably her last chance with foster families, after being through four in the last year alone.

Mary Sue was sure they’d be glad not to bother with her anymore.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t so easy to get by on the streets. She had some friends that would let her stay with them when their parents were away, or too drunk to ask questions. But she still spent quite a few nights scrambling for a safe space to sleep, then usually too nervous to actually sleep. Pickpocketing helped her get enough to eat, but she didn’t like relying on that. Shoplifting and pickpocketing when she was younger was like a game, seeing how much she could get away with before someone noticed. But this… this felt like desperation, and she didn’t like feeling desperate. But how else was she going to get any money? At sixteen, any real job she got would have to be reported to the school district which would be a red flag to child services. But any decent job she tried to get always asked to see an ID. She wondered where all those “under the table” jobs she heard about were - other than the really dangerous ones, and she steered clear of those.

Finally, she stumbled on a solution one night as she went through a wallet she’d pilfered. Pulling out the ID card, she noticed the young woman in the photo looked a lot like her. Dark hair, nineteen years old, about the right height… The next day, she stepped into a little diner that had a “Help Wanted” sign in the window, introduced herself as Nicole Watts and handed over the ID. She was hired on the spot.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Working full-time had its disadvantages - she had to get used to a real routine again, being up in time to get to work. But she brought in enough money that she could eat regular meals, and even better had enough to rent a tiny little room at a nearby flophouse. It was dirty and noisy, and the water was never hot if it was running at all, but the door had a lock on it and that was enough to let her sleep. Unfortunately, someone came asking questions about a “Nicole Watts” after only a few months, and she learned she couldn’t rely on stolen IDs to get her anything long-term. So she tried again, this time saving the money and asking around until she could find someone to doctor up an ID just for her. She didn’t have enough money to pick the name out, though, and got stuck with “Lauren Mills.” But Lauren was able to keep steady work, and that was the important part.

Once she felt secure in her new ID, she found she had the time and energy to get back into hacking again. The public library computers were free and easy to break the security protocols, so she became a familiar face to the librarians. Most of the time she was searching for information about her parents, but she had to learn a lot more to get into the files she wanted to find so she spent a good amount of time in hacking forums, competing with the other users for who could write the better codes. Pretty soon, “skysthelimit” became a well-known alias in the hacker community, and it opened doors for her. She started to chat with some really, _really_ good hackers, and they inspired her to try all sorts of new codes and programs. She even managed to earn a little money working online, enough that she decided Lauren’s steady job was no longer needed, so she bought herself a van and started living on the road. She still had to find libraries and cafes for computer access, but once she was outside of New York, she knew she had made the right choice. Everything was just so much _better_ on the open road, with the sky stretching out around her.

She’d also learned to create her _own_ IDs. She started offering her services to others, and figured out how to not only create an identity, but eliminate one as well. Only a few years before, it probably would have been next to impossible; but nearly every government agency had started to digitize their files, and even though she knew some still kept the paper files somewhere in an archive, who was likely to go looking for a file that the computer said doesn’t exist?

So with a few clicks of the keyboard, she finally swept away Mary Sue Poots, and Skye was born.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Years later, Skye stepped out of the shower attached to her small room in the Playground. Her eyes were red from crying while the water masked the sound from anyone nearby. Walking away from Cal this afternoon - from her _father_ \- had hurt more than she expected it to. She’d spent so much of her life searching for family that she still couldn’t believe how it had all turned out. Pulling on a loose t-shirt, she stared at the stranger in the mirror. She tried pulling her hair back into a ponytail to hide the ragged ends, but it didn’t help.

When Skye closed her eyes to visualize herself, she still thought about the girl in the van, getting by on her wits and her skill with a laptop. Despite the hardships, Skye’d had a pretty good life. She had friends. She had the freedom to pick up and go anywhere she liked. She played games with other hackers online, inserting sly jokes into Rising Tide broadcasts. She fell for Miles Lydon because she was charmed by his brashness and devil-may-care attitude, tempered by his passion for freedom of information and bringing down “the man.” Life wasn’t easy, but it was still _good_. Skye had been happy, brushing off the consequences of her mistakes and just running to the next town over, moving on to another life.

But this woman looking back at her was hardened. Unlike the orphan, this woman bore the weight of a dark family history and the legacy of great power. This woman had responsibilities. She’d made commitments to SHIELD, to her friends.

She didn’t _regret_ the changes in her life. Maybe there were a few things she would have done differently; but she was also proud of what she’d accomplished. She was stronger and wiser than Skye had ever been.

The memory of seeing her father drifted into her mind again. _“What’s your name?” “Daisy.”_

“Daisy.” She was trying it out, seeing how it felt on her tongue. It felt… well, it felt different. “Daisy Johnson.”

It’s not a name she would have picked out for herself. But it was a _real_ name. It was the name she’d been born with, and it encompassed so much of what she was now - Inhuman, daughter, fighter.

Skye didn’t belong here anymore. Skye was too curious, too naive, too impetuous. She looked at the world and saw an infinite range of possibilities. She also made horrible mistakes by trusting the wrong people, putting her faith where it doesn’t belong. Miles. Ward. Her parents, when they were little more than strangers to her.

Daisy Johnson was tied to her responsibilities, to people through bonds forged with blood and tears. Daisy Johnson understood that actions carry consequences, that fairy tales can have dark endings that are anything but “happily ever after.” Daisy knew that trust wasn’t something to give away lightly, that it had to be built and earned.

Picking up her SHIELD lanyard, she made up her mind. It was time to let Skye go.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Another mission. Another day filled with anticipation and adrenaline, of following orders without questioning where they’d come from or why they were necessary. No one had died, but it had been close for both one of her teammates, and they’d lost their target - a vigilante who caught Coulson’s attention for some reason he hadn’t chosen to share. But it brought her to a familiar neighborhood, one she hadn’t thought about in ages, not since she put her past behind her to focus on who she’d become.

So after turning over her injured teammate to the SHIELD extraction team, Daisy told them she was going to stick around a little while, see if she could pick back up any leads on their target. The others looked at her with questions in their eyes, but she brushed them off with a smile and joked that she’d seen an ice cream shop, did anyone want her to bring some back? So they left her alone, and she started to walk through the streets. Someone watching might think she was just strolling along aimlessly on a bright autumn day, enjoying the sunlight as it reached between the buildings of the city. But she knew there was a destination.

She heard it before seeing it. Children on the playground, running after each other as they chased and teased and played games. The squeak of a swing set. Turning the corner, she could see the playground next to St. Agnes’s parochial school. The children wore the familiar navy blue uniforms, some wearing sweaters to ward off the chill, but others had discarded them in favor of warming up with activity. She slowly walked by, her eyes drinking them all in, looking for the familiar signs of which children might be orphans. It used to be easy, picking out the children who seemed just a little quieter, a little less confident. But now, she couldn’t really tell. She wasn’t sure if it was because there were no orphans on the playground - she didn’t even know if the orphanage was still open. Or maybe it was because the years and experiences had carried her so far from the world of these children that the differences among them were too hard for her to see anymore.

Passing the end of the fence, Daisy came to the front of the church steps. She stopped, looking up at the doors that were propped open. She could hear a choir practicing inside; all women, so very likely it was the Sisters practicing for evening mass. The melody teased at her memory, as though calling her to come inside. But her feet remained planted on the sidewalk.

She lost track of time as she stood there, feeling as though she was balancing between two different worlds. People passed her by, entering and exiting the church as they conducted their business. Eventually, the singing faded into conversation, then quiet. Still, Daisy couldn’t tear herself away.

“Excuse me,” someone spoke from her side, and she turned sharply. It was a slight man, perhaps a few years older than she was. He was dressed in a nice suit and wore dark glasses, and as she swept him she noticed he also carried a white cane with a red tip. _“_ Are you looking for someone?” he asked as she filed away the information.

“No,” she answered. “No, I’m not… Why do you think I’m looking for someone?”

“You’ve been standing here a long time now,” he said, his lips quirking with amusement. “You were here before I went inside for confession, and you’re still here.”

Daisy smirked. “How can you tell it was me both times you were out here?”

He tapped his nose gently. “Same perfume.”

She blushed at the unexpected answer. “Oh. Sorry.”

The man just shrugged, twisting the cane in his hand. “You have a special interest in the church here?”

She hesitated. This man was a stranger, but then… well, it wasn’t likely she’d ever be around here again, or see this man. “I used to live here. In the orphanage.”

His eyebrows rose from behind the glasses. “Really? Small world, so did I. My parents died in an accident when I was a kid, and I landed here.”

“Wow.” She hadn’t expected that. “So, you still live close by?”

“Yeah, not too far from here. It’s good to stay close to home, helps you remember who you are when things get tough.” He switched the cane from one hand to the other, and reached out toward her. “I’m Matt.”

Slowly, she reached out to grasp his hand. She looked back up at the familiar church doors, then down at the clasped hands. “I’m -“ she hesitated, thinking about what he’d said about remembering who you are. Who was she? Sometimes she didn’t even think she knew anymore. One day blurred into the next - get up, work out, review the new intel, go out on the mission, accomplish the objective, debrief, train a bit more, then sleeping before it all started over again the next day. It was nothing she’d ever wanted to be, so focused on the job that she’d lost herself in it. She’d cut herself off from her past, from any part of her that didn’t fit the SHIELD agent. But maybe… maybe she didn’t want to do that anymore.

She realized Matt was still holding her hand, which had grown rather warm in the time she stood there silently. But he wore a gentle smile as he patiently waited for her to finish. Standing here, she decided it was time to remember the past, to let herself be more than the job, more than the superhero in the shadows. Finally, she squeezed his hand slightly. “I’m Mary Sue.”


End file.
